Snow Balls (Ball Games #2) (2 page)

I open a jokey card with a picture on the front of it from Camille. Inside is a twenty-pound note. I get the same from my grandma. My dad's mum passed away a couple of years ago, but my other gran is in her mid-sixties and let’s just say you can see why my mum and auntie are the way they are. Her card has a car on it and says,
age is just a number, you're alright while the engine's still running
. I put it down. There's only the parents card to open now. I usually get a good hundred quid from them.

Mum passes me the card and I tear off the envelope to find a schmaltzy one with a verse about four pages long. I have to read it. Otherwise my mother will turn sour. She’ll have chosen it because of the heartfelt words.

'Thanks you two.' I try not to panic about there being no money in the envelope but inside I'm screaming "what's happening?"

My mother reaches back inside her pocket and passes me another envelope.
Very crafty.

I open the envelope carefully. I don't want to tear the notes. Inside I find a letter and a cheque for a thousand pounds.
Fucking hell
. I didn't think this birthday was
that
special.

I grin as I pick up the letter.

Dear son,

You are dear to our hearts and we love you. Happy twenty-fifth birthday. However, as previously forewarned, it's time to stand on your own two feet. Please take this letter as your Eviction Notice. You have three months to secure new accommodation for yourself. Obviously, if you decide to purchase, rather than rent, then as long as we can see the sale proceeding, the date of eviction will be lengthened accordingly. We, your parents will assist with this as much as possible. If you would like us to accompany you to look at properties or help you get a mortgage, you only have to ask.

The cheque should cover you for a month or two's rent, or contribute towards legal fees.

We look forward to watching you on your next adventure as an adult.

Much love, Mum and Dad.

What the actual fuck?

'You're chucking me out?
That's
my birthday present?' I splutter.

Camille turns to me. 'Mum’s been saying for years you're getting chucked out at twenty-five. It can't be a surprise can it?'

'I thought she was joking!'

Mum tilts her head. 'Tyler. Your Dad and I need our house back—time to ourselves before the grandchildren come along. We're still young-ish. We love you, but I don't want to spend my time clearing up after you when I could have—'

I put my hands over my ears, 'Lalala.'

Mum shakes her head. 'I was going to say coffee with friends, but yes, it would be nice to have sex with your father without having to be deadly quiet about it.'

'Aaarrrgh.' I'd uncovered my ears.

'Anyway. Forget about that for now, and let's concentrate on having a lovely family Christmas. Happy birthday, son.' She flings her arms around me and kisses my forehead again. 'Gosh I love you. My firstborn. I'm sorry I made you so lazy by doing too much for you. I’ve read the latest book by Miriam Stepley and I can see that I'm quite responsible for how you turned out. Don't worry, though. I'll help you change.'

That's all I need. My mother on a mission. If she ropes in my Auntie and Gran, I'm done for.

My father looks at me with a smirk, knowing he's escaping my mother's attention while she's focusing on me.

I raise my eyebrows. 'So you have plans for you and Dad then when I move out?'

Mum clutches her hands together. 'Oh yes. Lots of ideas. I'm hoping this new book will give me some more.' She holds up
Discover the New You.
‘Tatiana is my new girl crush. She’s all about encompassing your significant other in your life. Rediscovering the romance. Right, anyway, enough chatter, I really must get back to the kitchen, Christmas Dinner won’t cook itself.’

My dad's lost his smirk now. Take that Pops.

I head up to my room to start my Fallout 4 marathon. There're three months before I've got to be out of the place. Plenty of time to change my mum and dad’s minds. I need to show them that life without me wouldn't be too good. What a fabulous idea. I'll play my parents off against each other until they beg me to stay.

I set my game up and tuck my duvet under my arms. Time to take out my frustration on the enemy team.

Just before two pm, my sister shouts up that dinner is about to be served. Hurrah, I'm starving. I bloody love Christmas lunch.

I bound downstairs. Sure enough, Mum has pulled out all the stops; prawn cocktail to start, followed by turkey with all the trimmings and Christmas pudding with brandy butter. We pull Christmas crackers and read out the naff jokes.

'Thanks for dinner, Mum, that was bloody gorgeous.' I pat my stomach and lean back in my chair.

My mum beams. 'Thank you. I think it went well. Okay, well, you go and wash up now.'

I laugh. She says that every year.

Camille stands up. 'I'll dry.'

'Thanks, love.'

'Off you go Tyler,' says my Dad.

'Are you not kidding?' I ask them.

My Dad fixes me with the most pitying look. 'No, son. You need to learn to be self-sufficient for when you're living on your own. Your mother has it all planned. Cooking lessons, the lot.'

With that, Mum taps his knee. 'Let's put our feet up, Tim. I bet there's a Christmas film on. If not, we can watch Elf.'

Elf. My Mum puts that bloody film on at least three times during the Christmas period. She sometimes watches it in August too, on the years she starts Christmas shopping really early. I don't know how my Dad sits through it so often. Given the choice of Elf or washing the dishes, the dishes actually win. I follow Camille into the kitchen.

Then I get an idea. If I do terribly at every job I’m given, my mother won't be able to stand it and she'll take over. I wash the pots and leave bits of food on them. Camille picks up the first one to dry.

'This is still dirty, Tyler.'

'Is it?'

'Yes. Look. There's still gravy on it.'

'Cam, I can't see it. I must need my eyes testing or something.'

I go into the lounge. 'Mum. I'm missing bits when I clean. Can you book me into the opticians? I think I might need glasses. Actually, it'll be better if I don't wash up, or we'll all be coming down with a stomach bug.'

Mum sighs. 'Tyler. I'm sure even people who have lost their sight can wash dishes. Just tell by the feel or let Camille point out where the dirty spots are. Now run along and get finished otherwise it will be time for Camille to go home and you'll find yourself drying the dishes as well.’

I turn in a sulk and walk back into the kitchen and pick up a plate.

'Nice try, bro, but if you're planning on taking on Mum, you are so heading for a fall.'

'You bet?'

'God, yes. I'd bet on that anytime. Dad does his own ironing because she reckons she can’t iron. You’re up against the Queen of Manipulation.'

'I
will
beat her. Tell you what. If I don’t get mum to change her mind, I'll give you the thousand pounds.'

'Wow. You're that confident?'

'But if I lose, you have to buy me a thousand pounds worth of computer equipment to console myself. Console myself… Get it?'

'Ha ha. Those stakes are too high, Tyler. I’ll bet two hundred. I've got a business to run.'

'Two hundred to you if I lose, two hundred to me if I win?' I clarify.

'Yes.'

'Deal.' We shake on it.

Camille holds up her fingers, touching the tip of each with her other hand as she counts relatives. 'So, now you're battling against Mum, Dad, Auntie Miranda, Gran and me, instead of trying to get me onside. Way to go bro.' She puts down her tea towel and heads out of the room to get ready to leave.

Fuck. I didn't really think that one through.

Chapter Two

Hell begins after the Christmas break. After hitting the snooze button several times, I turn over in bed and wonder why my alarm clock is playing my mobile phone music. As I come round from my sleep haze, I realise it
is
my mobile ringing. It's Adam from work.

'Hey man, what's up?'

'You're supposed to be at work, that's what's up. Where are you?'

I stare at my alarm clock. It’s nine-fifteen. I'm supposed to be in work at eight-thirty. 'Shit. I overlaid. Make up some crap to Donna about the bus breaking down. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

I slam the phone down and peg it into the bathroom where I quickly wash my pits and nether region, brush my teeth, and finally, ruffle my hair up. This is going to have to do. I shove my work uniform on and run downstairs.

'Mum. Mum. Mum.'

My mother is sitting on the sofa with her feet up on the coffee table. Coffee in hand, she's watching
The Mindy Project
, her latest TV obsession.

I stand in front of her. 'Mum, you forgot to get me up.'

She pauses the programme and turns to me.

'That's right, sweetheart. You're twenty-five now. You can get yourself out of bed.'

'Can you drive me to work, Mum. I'm late?'

'I'm busy.'

'Yes I can see,' I huff. ‘Watching the T.V.’

Mum puts her coffee down and folds her arms. 'Don't you take that tone with me, young man. Me and your Dad have been far too lenient with you. Me especially. You will learn to get out of bed without me having to remind you and you'll get yourself to work if you're late. If you want to drive—get yourself a car.'

'I can't afford a car.'

‘Well, you could have if you hadn’t wasted your Gran’s inheritance on electronics.’

‘Not this again.’

'Fine. Work more hours or get a better-paid job.' She unpauses the T.V. and ignores me.

'I will.' I grab my bag and storm out of the house, realising that she hasn't made me any breakfast or a drink either. This sucks. I wonder if she's started with the change? Adam's mum has. She's gone weird; always losing her temper, he says.

It's a bone of contention that I only work three days a week, Monday to Wednesday. At first, I used the few grand my Gran left me to supplement my wage. When that ran out, I realised I could work the same hours if I didn’t go out on the razz as much and bought fewer designer clothes. I get the rest of the week to myself, with a great life balance of three days on and four days off. Now, my mother is starting on me about this again as well. She seriously needs to get off my back.

I dash through the door of W.H. Smith's where I've worked since leaving school.

'Sorry, Donna. Bus broke down,' I say to my Manager.

'No worries, Tyler.'

It's the first time I've ever been late. One thing the staff here can count on is my reliability. Enthusiasm and effort, not so much, but reliable—that's me. Stick me in whatever department and I'll crack on with the job. On the tills, or filling up pens. It makes no difference to me.

The only thing that causes any enthusiasm to fire up is when Jennifer from Henderson's Bank walks in. She comes in every day I'm at work, sometimes first thing in a morning. Other times she appears at lunch, purchasing magazines, cans of drink and lottery tickets. She's tall and slim with burgundy hair and she has an arse that needs my hands on it. In my dreams, my hands have been on it. She's always polite and chats but never gives me any indication that she's the slightest bit interested. I've imagined asking her out seventy thousand times but never done so.

My only girlfriends to date have come from me having had a few when I've asked them out. I’m like that bloke off of
Big Bang Theory
. Can only manage to talk to women romantically when pissed. What’s good is we’ve always had to go back to their houses with me living with my folks. That's suited me. Means the next day I can just go home. I can’t say I’ve ever really given any thought to settling down, although seeing Camille happy with Dylan has made me wonder if I'm missing anything.

Hey, that’s an idea. If I get a bird, I can move in with them after three months if there's no alternative. Result. I reckon I might ask Jennifer out this week. Or perhaps next week.

'Penny for them?' says Lindsay, one of the other assistants. 'Heard your bus broke down. We were worried when you didn't turn in. Not like you to be late.'

Lindsay is one of my best friends here at Smiths. We both started here nine years ago. Both school leavers, but from different schools. We often take our lunch break together and spend them talking crap. At five feet three and slight with dark blonde hair, Lindsay looks like you could blow her over with one breath, but I wouldn't suggest trying it. She does boxing in her spare time. When I say something rude and she punches me in the arm, I have to hold in a squeal. Seriously. I don't think she even realises she's doing it.

'Staff room. Lunchtime. Big issues to discuss,' I tell her, ‘and I don’t mean the magazine we buy off Bert.’

'Oh, shit. Sounds serious,' she replies.

'It is. I'm fucking screwed I tell you.'

'Lunchtime it is. If I can do anything to help, I will.'

***

'So she’s given me until the end of March and then that's it. I'm out.' I lean back in my chair.

Lindsay is quiet.

'Aren't you going to say something?'

'Well Tyler, it might not be a bad idea to get your own place. Have you considered the advantages? You can do what you like. There'll be no folks to tell you to get dressed or anything. I love living on my own. Best thing I ever did.'

'But I'd have to work full-time,' I whine.

'Like most of the population, you mean? They're always asking you to do extra hours here. Or find some other way to earn a bit of money. Part-time jobs and self-employment aren't looked on that favourably if you want a mortgage though.'

'I can't believe you're on my mum's side, you're supposed to be my friend.'

Lindsay sighs and looks at me. 'I am. But if you want to impress the big girls like Jennifer Lambert, you need a bachelor pad.'

'How do you know I like Jennifer Lambert?'